


to finally call it heaven

by pgoat



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 80 percent of this is the characters lying in bed thinking, Alcohol, Alphonse and Paninya and Pinako and Garfiel are in this too! And that’s it!, Blood, F/M, I love a good parallel, Introspection, Post-Canon, Post-Promised Day, Rated M for Making out, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Title from a Mitski Song, and parallels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pgoat/pseuds/pgoat
Summary: To understand, to dream, to transform – wasn’t that what they both did?(Edward and Winry, post-promised day)
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	to finally call it heaven

  
_“the nets” – joanna klink_

The letter arrived on Central stationery, envelope creamy white and deathly official, but it bulged like an unfamiliar thing. Granny got mail like that once in a while, correspondence the result of a long life and far-flung former colleagues and patients. But Paninya and Garfiel preferred the phone, as did the Elrics (if you could call that a preference. She was sure those brothers would’ve solely checked in telepathically with her if it was possible, and even then they’d only say, _‘We’re fine, still moving forward. Let us know if you’re okay too’_ – which had made their awkward calls all the sweeter).

__

She’d turned it over, ripped the wrinkled adhesive strip open and read as Al detailed the utter sensory assault of getting his body back. He talked a bit about the dull agony of rehabilitation – the stretches (Winry wrote back with a few recommendations), the constant procession of nurses checking his mobility and range of motion, the disconnect between wanting to eat enough to fill a bottomless pit and not even being able to finish a bowl of oatmeal – but it was overall positive, discussing how grateful he was for everyone’s help, and how incredibly weird blinking felt.

__

After weeks upon weeks of a strict diet - _(“They won’t let Al eat anything_ good _yet_ ,” Ed had written) - the limitations were eased slightly, and Ed brought Al a celebratory powdered sugar donut from the cafeteria. She could picture it - Al closing his eyes reverently, lifting the donut to his nose on shaky fingertips, taking a huge whiff of the top and choking violently (and once they came home, could picture it _well_ , as Ed imitated it one night in a wild feat of older-brother dickishness quickly remedied when Al whacked him in the good shin with his cane. Ed went down like a ton of indignant bricks and all was right with the world.)

__

The letter itself was difficult to read in the literal sense, busy, black and heavy with ink. Her eyes scanned rows of practice letters lining the margins and parts that had been traced over so many times the words bled through to the back of the page. Towards the end, though, one clear sentence summed up the mix of ecstatic bliss, confusion, grief, feelings of support, of love. “There are so many people we have to thank, it’s overwhelming to think about! I want to run to everyone right now and tell them, but I can’t yet. In a way, it’s like trying to eat that donut but only inhaling the sugar.”

__

_Like inhaling sugar_. The phrase came to her now.

__

* * *

__

People celebrated coming of legal age, but in Ed’s view, it only changed one thing. He’d already been employed for years, in a government job at that. Had a salary you could buy a respectable house with, or a new-model car and a couple of metal limbs. Carried responsibility for the nation’s continued existence. The weight of countless lives. Arcane knowledge. The ability to rip a soul back from the screaming ether, binding it to this world in defiance of death itself. And he’d never needed a chaperone on cross-country train trips either.

__

Okay, maybe some of that stuff had nothing to do with age.

__

Still, there seemed little to celebrate since nothing had fundamentally changed except that his sources now _constantly_ wanted to meet up in bars. He didn’t mind, necessarily - usually obliged, in fact, but typically, it wasn’t really his scene. The late-night aspect was fine; he’d had plenty of those; but the din, the crappy snacks after the kitchen closed, the expectation to drink long into the night, other patrons eavesdropping, attempts to continue a serious conversation with a person who got stupider the longer they sat there - except for the rare occasion, he could do without it. It struck him as a diversion without reason, something he liked to think was rare for him on a research trip. Discipline, of course, was key in pursuit of a goal. Discipline meant you didn’t go out and celebrate nothing every single night. Discipline is what eventually helped bring his arm back, Al’s body, gotten them their current lives. Yes, it had been discipline for him since age 11, and that’s why he’d have to discipline himself tomorrow morning for his third beer of the night, whose empty glass he now held. 

__

The archivist across the table came back into view as Ed put his stein down, along with the laughing face of the archivist’s assistant, who’d just joined them. The topic of the evening had been, naturally, history – recent history, the Ishvalan conflict especially, and development currently ongoing in the region. Books on the Ishvalan War were only just starting to come out, and, though the atmosphere of fear and repression of knowledge was slowly ebbing, Ed knew these first published accounts weren’t likely to be authoritative, and it went without saying that they wouldn’t include much alchemical knowledge. He wasn’t about to run off to pick Scar’s brain, so the best way to glean further information, he’d decided, was his usual method – talk to as many knowledgeable people as possible, follow their leads, see where the information intersected, cross-check that, make new leads – the usual wild goose chase, but this time around, he found he had more time for the occasional letter or the rare photo to Al or Winry.

__

Winry. He imagined she was ready to kill him. He hadn’t called in at least three weeks, and who knows when she’d receive the letter he’d sent over the weekend. Mail delivery around here was once reliable enough, according to the residents he’d met, but tensions in these little border towns could explode any time and suspend the ordinary, as they had quite recently, and he’d just spent several stifling days indoors compiling notes, avoiding calling attention to himself in case any Amestrian troops moved in. 

__

Situations like that were common during this last eight months of travel – the familiar combination of stressful and tedious he and Al were used to but with which he’d never want to bother Winry, make her worry - and over what? Some crap that usually worked itself out – or at least some crap he could work his way out of. And he had been better with the calls and letters this time around; Winry had even said so. Besides, she was in Rush Valley working hard, probably entertaining offers from all over the country. Of course everybody wanted a piece from the latest Rockbell prodigy. Heck, last time Ed called, he hadn’t realized it was the tail end of her workday, and she practically hung up on him! Yeah, she was fine, busy, _not_ mad. Probably doing better than he was. 

__

Ed ground his chin deeper into his fist, rolling his eyes lazily towards his table companions. The archivists were laughing it up, had been ignoring him for a bit, but as the assistant addressed him merrily, Ed realized they must have been talking about him. 

__

The assistant was older than the archivist, who himself seemed to be in his mid-30s, by at least 10 years. As soon as Ed arrived at the bar, the archivist bought two “pretty nice” neat whiskies for himself and Ed “to commemorate a productive and absorbing day of scholarship.” Ed had been pleased – truly, the day had been a necessary but tiring slog – but rolled his eyes and refused – a refusal which was evidently ignored, as he still ended up with a glass. They toasted, took matching big sips, and it took everything Ed had not to spit right back in the man’s face. Ed grabbed a handful of ancient stodgy pretzels and stuffed them into his mouth instead, internally praising his absolute mastery of self-control, and ordered some sort of wheat beer. Half an hour later, the assistant walked up with a loud greeting, swiftly downed the abandoned whiskey and grinned. Ed had said hello and nothing since. He’d wondered idly at points how this odd couple had come to work together but hadn’t bothered asking the entire time he’d known them. 

__

“Hey, hey, what’s with the big frown, kid?” 

__

  
“He always looks like that,” the archivist laughed. 

__

Ed’s frown only grew. “Shut up. I’m just tired.” 

__

The archivist regarded him impartially, then scoffed, “Scowl all you want; I spent all day compiling that information, and I’m going to drink as hard as I worked!” He aimed a pointed look at the bartender, mumbling, “The papercuts alone…,” before turning back to the table. “Why don’t you just give that girl a call if you’re so worried then?”

__

“I’m not worried. I just told you I was tired!”

__

“Look; it’s been a stressful week for all of us. Try to relax a little. That’s why we’re here.”

__

“I am relaxed!” 

__

The assistant jumped in, waggling his eyebrows. “Girl back home, eh? Married? You guys have a house, kids on the way?”

__

“Um…” Ed didn’t expect _this_ line of questioning, three beers deep, from some middle-aged librarian he barely knew, but the man plowed along. 

__

“You’re at least engaged, right? And she’s okay with you traveling _down here_?”

__

“Look,” Ed started, but stopped, stuck there with his mouth twisted shut, because what was he going to say - _‘We’re together, which I know because we’ve… promised ourselves to each other? You guys know anything about a little theory called equivalent exchange? Well, listen to this.’_

__

Mock-sagelike, the man nodded. “Only dating then? You’re a young one yet. That’s what young people are supposed to do!” 

__

The archivist was snickering like a madman. “Quit teasin’ him.”

__

Ed’s frown was now so heavy it felt like it could fall off his face and clatter to the floor, yet somehow this guy was still going on.

__

“Hey, date around, get some experience, settle down when you’re...”

__

Ed stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the table, feeling the world jump and slowly float back into place. In his mind, that was supposed to have been a more fluid, less startling motion, but whatever. His companions regarded him with curious frowns over sloshed beer.

__

“Bathroom,” he muttered, striding out the door and into the hall blinking.

__

* * *

__

The bar had a pleasingly ugly, deep cherry red fleur-de-lis wallpaper strip running along the wall on the way back from the bathrooms, and he unconsciously ran his hand along it, following it in a line while looking for the payphone. Finding it inside a pseudo-cubby on a back wall across from the bar door, he jangled around at least three different currencies in his palm before gathering enough of one type to make a call.

__

He closed his eyes briefly as faint jittery rings came through the line that warbled out in deep pulsating warm waves over his brain. He imaged them zipping their way over the border and finding their way to her. 

__

Slouching against the side of the cubby in apprehension, though there was no pressing reason to feel that way anymore – his automail was in fine working condition, thank you, and he wasn’t about to be subject to a techie rant tonight – he begrudgingly recognized calling her still evoked some unexamined reflexive dread. Compared to all he’d dealt with in these recent travels – calling Winry should’ve been cinch. It wasn’t that he disliked talking to her. Fear of a verbal dressing-down about his automail maintenance turned to straight fear once it was clear the government would attempt to use her as a pawn against him, and though the naked panic subsided, he never lost that accompanying zing of anxiety.

__

That afternoon he’d tried to resign as a state alchemist marked a turning point when manifold plans were rapidly, unstoppably put in motion, as strange as it was now to think about - how single-minded he’d been without knowing how much had been going on all around him secretly. To trust everyone was a relief – comrades in their own rivers of mud. And everything worked out, of course. Basically.

__

He scanned the empty hallway disinterestedly, eyes fixing on a yellowing spot on the opposing wall. The last time he’d waited like this was during the single phone call he made to her from Central hospital after the promised day. Phone lines were downed all over the country, but Fuery let the brothers know as soon as there was a reliable connection between Central and Resembool, and they were able to make an incredibly short, emotional call home to say they were alright and that they’d be there as soon as was allowed. Winry made them promise they’d tell her once they knew their return date, which they had every intention of doing, but the connection proved tenuous, and they weren’t able to call again.

__

Initial recovery took forever. Alphonse’s starving body was no less unnerving in earthly life as it had been sitting in that white void. In many ways, watching him struggle to lift a cup and drink from it without spilling was harder than fighting father and hurt more than ripping rebar out of his bicep. He was up the nurses’ asses learning all he could about Al’s physical therapy, breathing over their shoulders watching them, making sure everything really was fine despite what his little brother’s long-suffering smile said. If it would help Al recover faster, he’d be rude, he’d be kind, he’d back off, it didn’t matter. Besides, it beat bumming around the hospital. Forget barging in on the colonel. It was like a geography-world history-foreign policy-nerd quiz show in there day and night with a rotating cast of ridiculous guest hosts.

__

His own arm – _his own arm_ – required a learning curve he was grateful for but didn’t quite want to be on. The automail, with its many disadvantages, had moved on his brain’s insistence. Now the port – er, stump – no, his _shoulder_ with its flesh arm felt like it’d sprouted extra limbs, too many for one socket. ‘ _You should know how this works already_ ,’ he found himself saying to his body.

__

Surgeons took the shrapnel from his back and collar, leaving him with numb fingertips and shooting pains that persisted almost constantly till he went home, where Pinako massaged the eternal hell out of it and showed him how to do it himself using a bedpost.

__

Despite being swept up in surgery, recovery and rehab, they did manage to write. Ed asked every day about discharge, but in true military fashion, they were told nothing, repeatedly, till the orders arrived, which meant they were woken up one morning, told to pack, and given train tickets before they even finished breakfast. Nursing assistants started stripping their beds as Al stood there in socks, looking around for a place to sit and put his shoes on, and Ed had half a mind to physically kick the staff out until he realized how late it was getting. 

__

A floaty, special adrenaline bore them towards the station and lasted through the ride, turning the pastoral scenery psychedelically green and bursting. Ed had looked at Al, dazed by light, movement, noise, smells, and knew they were both seeing the same thing. Now, almost three years later, the time of their return home remained incredibly fresh in his mind, as if someone had ripped open the top of his head and stamped the memories directly onto his brain. To Ed, that first journey home marked the real start of their new lives.

__

  
It was true; they’d been back in town relying on the Rockbells’ hospitality more than they’d ever planned or wanted. Now, maybe, without urgency, it would be possible to acknowledge the sum total of what was left of the Rockbell and Elric households was not just individuals thrown together in a cyclone of sadistic fate but a sort of family, and Resembool could be safe once again as a springboard for exploration. No longer retreating backwards, being pulled, sucked underwater, but charging home triumphantly.

__

The train chugged along, showcasing the countryside in tentative bloom. Ed and Al looked at each other midway and smiled, both crossing their arms in satisfaction, though Al’s smile had swiftly turned to a grimace, and while Ed did have to loudly harangue some guy who was taking way too long in the bathroom as Al tried not to get motion-sick all over both their shoes, they made it to the platform shortly after, no worse off. 

__

Fluffy clouds and cool morning air gave way to an ecstatically blue, clear day with a breeze, the quintessential Resembool late-spring afternoon, perfect especially since Ed and Al were sure this was the slowest it’d ever taken them to get from station to house. 

__

But no matter. Getting tackle-hugged - Winry and Al trading tears while wearing giant uncontrollable smiles – made Ed grin so broadly his cheeks hurt. The feeling was so _right_ ; it reminded him a little of first seeing Al in the flesh months ago – pure uncut happiness, minus the incredulity. Even being knocked to the ground felt good, the full-on body blow making up for all those days of pinching, poking, prodding, persistently annoying medical touch.

__

Pinako couldn’t help looking wryly pleased and delighted, and Den circled the group happily as they piled into foyer, where they’d all stood in a circle talking animatedly - Ed’s hands flying in retelling, voice getting louder like it always did - idling there babbling for who knows how long until Pinako excused herself, saying, “I’ll just get that bedroom ready, because Alphonse looks like he’s about to need it. Winry, fix these boys some lunch!”

__

Winry ran off to shut the front door while Ed trailed to the kitchen, following Al, who fairly burst back out the door when he saw the supplies on the table. “Oh, Winry! You’re making apple pie? How did you know?”

__

She came back through smiling, and Ed realized she did have an apron on.

__

“How did I know? I guess you could say I just had a feeling,” she said, giving Ed a wink.

__

Al was plainly thrilled. “I’ve been _waiting_ to taste this,” he said with a happy sigh. “When will it be ready?”

__

“If I can get a hand peeling these apples, I’ll have it in the oven in no time, though it won’t be ready to eat for at least two hours after it starts baking.”

__

Ed put an easy arm around Al’s shoulders, ruffling his hair. “You haven’t even had lunch yet, Al.”

__

Al had put on a pouty little frown in jest, said, “Yeah,” but he perked up when Winry offered him some roasted pecans while they figured out what to eat for real. Softly, Al laughed and held up one of the nuts, said, “To think _these_ are the first meal we’ve had together since I was 10,” then looked sheepish when that sentimentality made her crying begin afresh as she led him over to the pantry. 

__

Ed stood there smiling fondly, taking in the light, comforting smell of wood and old paint, the heat scent of the oven, listening to Al and Winry talking quietly at the pantry doors as they snacked on the nuts she held in her cupped palm. 

__

After finding a paring knife, he took a seat at the table, eyeing the big basket of apples stacked high, ready to be peeled, but, arm outstretched to take one, he hesitated, struck by an odd sickly jolt in his stomach. ‘ _Where have…_ ’ he thought, and suddenly the collective memories rushed back like a kick in the chest – Mr. Hughes’ death; sitting in a darkened hotel room listening to Winry cry; unable to make it better, couldn’t even look at her, couldn’t cry, run, hit something, hold her, could only stare at his hands that always got people into so much fucking trouble, willing himself not to fall fully into the black hole of despairing guilt while the damn apples shined mockingly. The only thing left was to endure her suffering.

__

Automatically, his brain counted back to the date he’d last seen her and helpfully displayed a number of pies heaped on a table, overflowing to the floor and positioned on every available surface. He shook his head to kick the image back to the shadows, realizing that sitting there intensely gazing at a pile of fruit would make Winry worry and wouldn’t get them any closer to pie. Grabbing an apple with his right hand and mentally shaking himself out the past, he started peeling unsteadily.

__

Over the years, he’d trained his left hand to be stable and strong. It could write letters, draw transmutation circles and function well as a dominant hand, but it never gained the fluidity his original right arm allowed. Now that rightie was back but not yet up to its former glory, the situation was confused; he found himself again having to think of which hand to use for every random fine-motor task. The idea of true ambidextrousness was appealing, admittedly mostly for circle-drawing speed and consistency, which hadn’t been a concern in a long time. Relearning cursive seemed an attainable goal, though, especially with ample practice time being laid up in the hospital. He and Al’d written more letters than they ever had before, to anyone whose address they knew.

__

Al and Winry shuffled around the kitchen as he chopped and peeled, slowly covering the table with little plates and bowls of food. As he finished cutting the sixth apple, he sensed her right behind him and looked up to see her giving a nod of approval at the height of the slice pile. Humming, she confidently threw a mix of spices, sugar and lemon juice into a bowl, rolled out the top lattice slats of the dough, cut them, then put it all together. The boys watched dreamily as she brushed the top with a beaten egg, then sprinkled the slats with sugar crystals. When she walked over to slide the pie in to bake, Al gave Ed a little wink. 

__

Before Ed could respond, Pinako came through the door – “Your room’s set up” -- and pushed her chair in to the table, which was spread with seemingly every jam, cracker, bread, fruit, cheese, nut and sausage Al and Winry could hunt down from the kitchen alone, plus cold leftover chicken and a tin of marshmallows. “My, what a spread,” said Pinako. “I see you’re making up for lost time, Alphonse.”

__

They sat there eating and talking, everyone butting in at different times to share what _they’d_ been doing when this and that happened, conflicting points of view, questions, laughter. About an hour in, the timer went off, and Winry took the pie out to cool. Ed thought he felt like Al looked – like he was about to pass out in bliss from the heavenly smell. Or maybe Al did need a nap. Winry noticed too. “Granny, didn’t you say their room was set up? Maybe you guys should go rest. I’m sure it’s been a long day already,” she said. Addressing the sudden alertness in Al’s face, she reassured him the pie needed time to cool before anyone tried it.

__

Al stretched and stood up slowly, saying, “Mm, then I could go for a nap. Thanks for lunch! I’ll go get our bag.”

__

“You go on ahead, Al. I was hoping Winry could take a quick look at my, uh... my automail.”

__

A silent second passed. “From the way you walked in, I thought you still had that leg,” Pinako remarked neutrally.

__

Winry sat across the table, biting her lip and staring at him with huge eyes, looking like six wildly different emotions were fighting to break out on her face. “Sure thing, Ed.”

__

  
“Jeez, try not to look so upset for me.”

__

She looked flustered and found-out, stammering, “Hey – no! I – I just didn’t – “

__

Pinako pointedly said, “Al, I’ll help you upstairs” and made her way to the door. 

__

Al exhaled in that exasperated, fond way that made Ed wish they were both fully recovered so he could fight him. “Thanks, Granny. Wake me up when the pie’s cooled, guys!” he called out.

__

Winry scrambled hastily away from the table too – “Al, wait!”

__

And so he was alone. Ed knew the drill by now – take off your shoe and sock, roll up the pant leg and hope that’s enough, get annoyed when she makes you take the pants off, sit there motionless for who knows how long, looking everywhere but at her. Fixing on a point in the distance, letting the quiet take over. Not thinking about her arms, her hands and the wrench in them and the screw in him, how they made a strange circle. He’d never figured out what to do with _his_ hands unless he had a book nearby – well, usually, just hand. This was new. He filled up a glass of water just so he had something to hold and settled back in to the old chair, resolving not to complain when his ass went numb twenty-five minutes in.

__

He looked down at his fingers distorted through the water and waited, resting.

__

He looked down at the phone in his hand. It had been ringing forever.

__

Back up to his ear it went. He decided to give it three more rings, then he’d –

__

“Atelier Garfiel, this is Winry Rockbell. We’re closed now for the night, but if you want to call or drop by tomorrow, the best time…”

__

“Winry, it’s me. Hi.”

__

“Ed, hi! Hold on.”

__

At least she always sounded excited to hear from him, even when she was busy or tired. He could hear her put the phone down, then just silence and muted footsteps, a click, then a louder click as she picked up what he assumed was a more private line in a secluded area of the shop. Or at least that’s what he liked to imagine. 

__

“It’s been weeks. Is everything okay? How are you? _Where_ are you? Is your automail alright?”

__

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. Why do you always act like I damage my automail _on purpose_? Argh, what am even I saying? Nothing’s wrong with it!”

__

He told her where he was, roughly; he was well; he’s in a bar hallway, actually, how was she? Had she heard from Al lately? Business going okay in the world’s dustiest, rockiest hellhole? They shot the shit – a skill he was marginally better at now, he believed -- for a while until Ed said, “Listen, I did call for a reason.” 

__

Abruptly, he realized he was about to do something he’d never done – let Winry know ahead of time when he was coming back to her. The thought of his journey ending, capped off with yet another _lofty_ achievement gave him a stubborn smirk. 

__

“I wanted to tell you I’m coming home soon.”

__

“Ed, why does it sound like you’re trying not to laugh?”

__

He did laugh, then, rubbing the back of his head. “I can be in Resembool by the end of the month. Or Rush Valley if you really want me to slog out to that godforsaken sundried slab of earth.” 

__

He heard her exhale loudly. “You act like Rush Valley is the worst place in the world! I’ll have you know I just got back from visiting home, so I guess you’ll have to come stay with me here.”

__

_Come stay with me._ He felt himself blush - probably the alcohol, he reasoned – and what he said came out in a low voice. “That sounds pretty good.” 

__

Winry was so quiet then, he could feel her breathing. 

__

No, perhaps it was his own pulse against the back of the phone. 

__

He needed water. 

__

“So,” he began awkwardly, “I’m starting to wrap things up down here. I need a little while to compile what I have, but after that, I can go straight there. I’ll come to the shop.”

__

“Okay, Ed” she said merrily, “We’ll be ready for you.”

__

He frowned at that, closing his eyes. Mental priorities rearranged themselves from, roughly,

__

  * Call Winry
  * Hang out drinking, discuss ideas



__

to

__

  * Get back to the apartment as soon as possible
  * Masturbate
  * Fall asleep (reading, if possible)



__

He cleared his throat and the words stretched themselves creakily over the line.

__

“Cool. Well…”

__

“See you soon, Ed. I’ll be waiting,” she said sweetly.

__

_Click._

__

She hung up on him. Fuck.

__

He laughed, slamming the old phone back on the hook, and smiled.

__

* * *

__

Darkness.

__

Ed’s sneeze echoed in the tiny, spare apartment.

__

“It’s too damn...”  
  
Seemed like he’d only just kicked the habit of turning to the side, looking up and speaking to nobody. Now he was talking to himself. Great.

__

“…Quiet in here,” he mumbled.

__

He lay on his back in bed, window shade pulled up to let moonlight in, though only a filmy hint of it managed to push through the cloud cover. It wasn’t often cloudy like this out near the desert, an aspect of life there that didn’t suck; it was like home, with its constant stars. The almost-total blackness of the ceiling and walls made the air itself seem to hover like a swarm, or one of any number of foreboding dark depths he’d entered, willingly or unwillingly. The only other light sources available were the yellowy ceiling light or candles, neither of which worked as a nightlight.

__

Darkness wasn’t scary, per se. He knew the dark. The problem was that it knew him too. It was hard to believe, in hindsight now, how used he’d gotten to being utterly drained each day. Eating for two, sleeping for two, but not growing – it was ordinary, somehow, to be impelled by a single internal drive (and guilt, he tried not to remind himself, raw fear, anger bordering on impotence, and shame, the glowing eyes of his brother’s that followed him into sleep).

__

The nightmares back then were frequent but short, perhaps a product of interrupted REM, too many naps. Al’d usually wake him up if he got too feisty, but now, alone as he’d never been, nights had gotten a little weird. Sleeping, it seemed, tended to immediately drop him into the dreamland equivalent of four-lane traffic on the busiest road in Central, or made images come deep into the night, mid-peaceful-slumber, creeping, sinister, slowly. Lasting. Bizarre realities asserted themselves. And there was nobody to wake him up.

__

Not that it was a problem tonight - even after his heartbeat returned to normal, he couldn’t help but think of Winry. Minutes before, he’d reimagined the warm evening air as the result of their shared panting breaths. Now the heat plus the aftereffects of arousal and alcohol made sleeping a dizzy task. So he lay there, trying to enjoy the self-induced afterglow instead of wondering what tiny reaching hands, eyes, mouths may come haunting once he drifted away. If only Winry were here, she’d… cover all surfaces in automail and he’d have no place to work. 

__

He shook his head. If Winry were here, she’d probably be asleep already. He envied the control she could exert over sleep, and conversely how she let it fully take her, deservingly, after a job well-done. She was as much of a napper as he was too, though not in the same style. (She’d always chided him before for sleeping in the world’s empirically best way – sprawled on a couch in the middle of the day, with his shirt halfway up for airflow, of course – but he knew she sometimes sat next to him while he slept, and those were the best naps of all.) He’d catch her sleeping slumped over a table or worktop, elbows out and head down, her posture jerking a fear straight of his unconscious – _‘Why are you crying’_ – that thankfully never made it to his mouth before he realized and left her alone.

__

He wondered if Winry had nightmares too. If she did, she’d never spoken about it to him, and it’d never come up the times they slept in the same bed as adults. Body thrumming with dull pleasure and an acute aching feeling, he recalled those sleepy nighttime encounters in the kitchen which led to even sleepier encounters between Ed’s head and Winry’s (excessive, in his mind, but undeniably comfortable) pile of pillows.

__

He’d never want to chance a knock on her door in the middle of the night or just barge in and probably freak her out, and her going to him was out of the question with Al there, so it happened infrequently, unplanned. Neither could predict Al and Pinako’s sleep schedules, nor could they set unexplained alarms or, for that matter, bring up the subject in conversation at all, let alone admit they enjoyed sleeping in each other’s arms and discuss what it meant. 

__

Consequently, it usually went like this. He’d wake up because of a dream; he’d stumble downstairs after an intense evening of brainstorming with Al, now passed out; he sensed movement in the house, and occasionally she’d be there in the kitchen, miraculously, a rumpled vision drinking tea, sometimes reading, other times just resting with her knees pulled up. They rarely said much beyond a greeting, and he’d sit there for immeasurable minutes staring at the wooden table’s whorls, the softness of the late hour enveloping the magnetized desire to be close, as close as possible, _now_. Because inevitably, she’d finish her cup, rinse it in the sink, stretch, say, always, “Let’s go back to bed” and sleepily take his hand. 

__

Quietly as possible, he’d follow as she took her practiced route up the stairs, avoiding the creakiest spots, while his heartbeat and the warmth of her hand and the pulse in her thumb all joined to form a strange mirror image of the heightened, woozy way his body felt after blood loss. Once at the bed, she’d slide in first, then him.

__

He’d unintentionally mentally catalogued, he realized on the road, each combination of sleeping positions they’d taken – first, content just to be in close proximity, holding hands only and practically vibrating with a blossoming warmth; her pressed up against his side, facing away from him, to warm her cramped back; him flat on his back, her on her side with one arm and leg thrown over him, her head near his collarbone, and both of them ignoring his erection; a blissful but short attempt at spooning before Winry complained that his leg, which usually warmed up between them pretty quickly, was “radiating coldness”, which Ed whispered wasn’t scientifically possible, and she’d made him wear a pair of her pajama pants for being a pedant (which turned out to be way too constricting, almost fatally tight, the sight causing Winry fall victim to an uncontrollable giggle fit that made Ed whisper-yell, “Fine, I will go _put on real pants_ ”, but upon entering his bedroom, he found Al and Den’s moonlit _awake_ eyes staring at him wordlessly, and so he, also wordlessly, stared back - nobody blinking – slowly, confusedly got in bed, eventually falling asleep, forgetting about the entire night’s events until the next morning, when he sat up in bed feeling oddly… squeezed, remembered, and promptly choked on his glass of water.) 

__

The last few days of unreality between his and Al’s departures saw them meeting up every night; even then, they never spoke much about those times. There was a lot they didn’t talk about. It wasn’t like before, way in the beginning, when he believed her safety depended on her ignorance -- that notion had been painfully, unquestionably proven wrong in an incident he hated remembering even now – so, soon after he and Al returned home, they’d all sat down and fully hashed out everything that’d happened.

__

It had taken the full day and into the late evening (neither he nor Al - or Izumi, come to think of it - had ever been able to describe the gate in satisfying detail, though they tried valiantly, drawing her little pictures, which she kept and wrote notes on as she sat there involved, intent, brain whirring like unique machinery), and sure, it was a lot to process, but looking across into Winry and Al’s tired faces, he thought he recognized underneath them what he felt too – circulating energy, a happy desire, an amazement and gratefulness for this life. 

__

Lying in bed after, certain other emotions came through – shame and guilt, greatly diminished now but stubbornly present as ever, like two small stones in his pockets. Talking, sharing were good things, he knew, the process like exercising a pained muscle, and it at least seemed to stop the guilt from growing. A protective element in him still shouted to leave her out of this, let certain parts of the past go forever, and the memory of the mine shaft lay black in his mind. Still, he knew he owed it to Winry; she deserved to know as much as possible, and he needed to show her things were going to be different starting now, that he’d – 

__

Make up for lost time. It was a phrase that ran through his mind often in those first days, as meaningless as it was persistent. Damn well he knew lost time couldn’t be made up for. What’s gone really was gone. Past actions created ripples that went forward into the future, they affected others, they could strengthen or weaken you, and you could give back – something. Something just as good, or better, he hoped. Money could be borrowed and returned, promises made and kept, but currency devalued; unexpected sacrifices were made in pursuit of a goal; people gave and never saw a return. Nothing in life turned out to be guaranteed like he thought it should be. If one is all, how long are the arms of equivalent exchange?

__

In the hospital, Al told him what he knew of alkahestry, how it utilized the current of a life energy flowing through every thing and being on earth. He remembered how Lan Fan and Fu could seemingly feel the roiling chi of all existence around them. Even that royal buffoon could sense it without a second thought. Yet when the brothers tried doing so in their room, breathing rhythmically and laying on the cold floor for grounding, nothing really came to them. _‘It was worth a shot,’_ Ed thought. Besides, Al would surely learn more in Xing, and maybe they could ask their stupid father for a crumb of his 400 years of insight if he ever bothered to visit.

__

Well. A brief, somber letter from Pinako arrived shortly after that disavowed him of that idea, and a little piece of hope he didn’t know he had flaked off into oblivion.

__

Even if he didn’t know how to feel the flow, intellectually, it made sense. All is one; one is all. The bird, the worm, the soil, the nutrients, the decomposition, the energy, nutrients, another worm, another bird, plants growing, the sun, himself…

__

_Alchemist, be thou for the people_ \- like supplication, like a command, protection against egotism. Who’d come up with that saying? Probably another alchemist, trying to shake off the power rush they didn’t want to like.

__

Ed understood the feeling. Though he was always slightly proud, still, to have harnessed the planet’s excess.

__

Back and forth slowly emerged a new theory, then, one of inequivalent exchange. Winry seemed to get it without ever having been explained it. That’s just how she lived her life. Nevertheless, if he could prove it, prove it straight to her, beyond their mutual kept promises – saying that at the train station had been a start, but –

__

Rolling over sluggishly, he wondered what time it was. Hard to tell with no moon or visual stimuli. When trying to sleep was useless, he made himself get up and read or write, but the conflicting currents of alcohol adrenaline and post-orgasm stupor paralyzed. Genuine exhaustion had taken over. Staring blankly into the dark never led to anything good, though, so he closed his eyes, trying to focus on even breathing. With Winry next to him, he could match his breaths to hers and fade quickly as if slipping into a shared dream. Maybe he had been, all those times; he’d never experienced a nightmare with her there. 

__

He wondered what sleeping arrangements he’d be given at Garfiel’s and tried not to. How many rooms did that place have, anyway? A couch in the hallway, a cot in the workshop, bedroom in a large supply closet – he’d take what they gave him. Unless Winry wanted him to sleep in her bed indefinitely.

__

_‘Come stay with me.’_

__

That would be fine.

__

That would be a lot more than fine.

__

It was the kind of expectation that came with… other expectations. And opportunities. Ones he hoped to fuck he was ready to finally meet and respond to in kind. And whatever happened, it had to be better than the last time.

__

It was the evening Al left for the east. Two years together in the countryside had been good for the brothers. When they’d originally returned, they’d been as whole as they were ever going to get bodily, but everything else needed work, mentally, emotionally, physically. Alphonse always impressed Ed – how gracefully he’d taken to again fully existing in this world. For sure, it was a bizarre, messy process with natural awkwardness, but for all their shared boldness, Al just had a smidge more patience in him and accepted medical advice tolerably. Ed tended to ask about the minimum healing requirements, then reduce those by at least half and go from there.

__

Coming home to Winry and granny had been the right move for Al’s recovery, and there’d never been a question if they’d land here after they restored their bodies. However long Al needed, they’d stay, but two years, he hadn’t expected. He hadn’t expected anything, honestly, beyond the static series of events that played out in his mind like a reel strip – he and Al restore their bodies; they see Winry; she cries tears of joy; he takes a long nap and eats a good meal; they thank everyone who’s helped them; ??? – and apple pie in there somewhere.

__

It had turned out to be restorative for both of them, incredibly so, but each could tell the other was getting restless after all that time. Ed was truly glad Alphonse had somewhere to go after, something new and vital to learn and do that he couldn’t. 

__

So Al would board the train, meet up first with Jerso and Zampano midway, then go towards the desert, towards Xing generally and Mei specifically, who supposedly knew they were coming. Ed wasn’t so sure on that last point, though Al seemed pretty confident after deciphering the few letters he’d received from her – letters, by the way, whose ciphers he wouldn’t even let Ed glance at, let alone see the key for which he’d meticulously developed, though he’d told _Winry_ all about them. Any alchemy knowledge contained inside was shared and discussed thoroughly, but without more specific ammo, Ed found his taunts about Mei went wide of their marks, Al sitting there with an infuriatingly pleased little smile on his face every time one of her envelopes arrived.

__

Al was packed up and ready the night before, so the morning of, he sat killing time with Ed in what would soon be their former bedroom, discussing their plans. 

__

“And once you reach the Xing border, how far in is your tiny little microscopic speck of a girlfriend?” Ed laid flat on his bed, wearing his shoes, which he knew Al hated, absent-mindedly kicking one foot against the blanket.

__

“About another week’s traveling time, I believe, though depending on security concerns or weather, we may need to take a longer route,” he said thoughtfully before deadpanning, “And ha ha. Never mind the fact that Mei’s _not_ my girlfriend, she’s already grown at least four inches, which is more than we can say for _you_ at that age - ”

__

Ed sat up fast. “At _least_ four,” he imitated. “So she’s sending _body measurements_ in those letters? No wonder you - ”

__

Looking irritated and blushing, Al stood up, raising his voice over Ed’s. “No, I’m estimating from the _picture_ she sent, which isn’t even relevant to – ”

__

“Whoa, whoa, you’ve been hiding a photo of a girl in this house? I’m telling granny. _Gra_ \- ”

__

“Will you shut up already?!” Al whipped a pillow that connected dead on target – Ed’s face. “You’ve been teasing me about this for _two years_. Meanwhile, I haven’t heard a _peep_ out of you about Winry. So how’s _that_ going, brother?”

__

Ed looked down at his hands, fake-out introspective, then lashed the pillow at Al’s stomach. Roughly catching it with both arms, Al hugged it to himself and sat down on his own bed with a bounce. 

__

“You guys _have_ talked about it, right?”

__

“…”

__

“…?”

__

“Okay… not exactly. But we shouldn’t have to when it’s obvious she already knows, and I know she knows, and she knows I know she -”

__

“Because you’re leaving in three days for _who_ knows how long!”

__

Ed’s sat there grumpily, wearing a frown. Al looked up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers lightly on the bedspread, searching. 

__

“Hmm. You know our new theory?”

__

“Yeah, of course – give more than you take, come out with something better than a 1:1 exchange. If you give ten, I give eleven. What about it?”

__

“Well… don’t you think Winry’s already given you her ten? She’s waiting for you to say something, brother, I know she is!”

__

Ed felt edgy, hunching his shoulders in a little and looking away.

__

“I know,” he said quietly, “So don’t worry about it.”

__

“I’m not worried. I just want you to get it through your thick skull.”

__

“Hey!”

__

From downstairs, they could hear Pinako holler, “You two coming down?”

__

Al had a train to catch. 

__

They’d all seen him off at the station – Winry with a hug and Ed with a handshake and a shared promise to learn as much as possible. The three stood in a group on the lonely platform, watching the train disappear, finally turning home when the last distant smoke plumes were indistinguishable from clouds.

__

Pinako had asked Ed to carry a large bag for her on the way there and back. Halfway towards home, near the diverging paths in the road, he finally looked down and asked why the hell he was lugging what felt like a bag of rocks, and Pinako said, “I have a few house calls to make. Hard to believe, but there are people out there who take less care of their automail than even you do. Niss’ son offered to drive me back to the house, so I won’t be very long. You two be good and get the stew started while I’m out.” 

__

Ed’s face screwed up as he began to say, “Didn’t you just do your house calls only last - ” but was interrupted by Winry rapidly slapping him between the shoulder blades. 

__

“We will, granny! Come on, Ed. You can peel the potatoes. Good dexterity exercise!” He looked at her. She was smiling with eyes closed, a big grin on her face that was two clicks away from looking totally deranged. He realized he had no idea what was going on and was summarily dragged back to the house. As soon as they got through the doorway of her room, she practically seized him. 

__

_‘Oh.’_

__

Her kisses always surprised him. 

__

It wasn’t that he lacked perception. As long as it had taken him to realize it, he could finally admit it to himself - he was in love. That’s what this unknowable feeling was, and probably, maybe, Winry felt it too. The bumpy process of realization had made him feel at first incredulous, sputtering in confused denial, then out of control, desperate to pare back down to basics, figure out how this could’ve slipped past his focus which had never strayed from his goal.

__

But as the objective only grew – protect Al, fix their bodies; save one more person; save his family; save the world – his unconscious desire developed in tandem, intruding until he was forced to acknowledge it, then flourishing when he paid it the slightest attention. Over time, its image emerged fully. He could see its path in his mind. 

__

He was standing on the bank of a river that stretched so far in either direction, there was no discernable end nor beginning. He tried to see the start of it, the upstream that was obscured in fog. Couldn’t. Downstream, it seemingly continued forever. The water below rushed clear, deep and sparkling, and he knew, once he jumped in, he was never climbing back out. So for now, he laid on the edge, letting it run through his fingers.

__

It felt wonderful.

__

Winry’d slowly moved them from the middle of the room to being seated on the bed. Waning late-afternoon light, shining through those moody full-length curtains on her windows, was caught, changed, filtered into many murky stars. One last sunbeam had shot through the side and made its way slowly from the ceiling down to the top of Winry’s head, her hair glowing, a golden corona of wisps seemingly hovering around her. She appeared a blazing sexy pseudo-saint from some ancient religion, and he was certainly no stranger to blasphemy

__

They sat side by side, legs tangled. Winry leaned in closer, placing her hands on either side of his hips on the bed, and kissed him open-mouthed, hungrily. He loved when she was the initiator, was surprised by how much he got off on just being wanted by her. The more she expressed her desire, the more he craved it, wanted to give it back tenfold. In that way, a kiss was almost a perfect action. It encapsulated everything necessary, no words needed – _I care about you. I want you. Do you want me? Kiss me back if you do._ Maybe even, _I love you._

__

Ed wanted her to know. He grabbed her forearms and squeezed, meaning, _lift up your hands for a moment._ She did, and, reaching his arms around her back, he pulled her roughly into his lap. 

__

“Mmmph,” she hummed pleasantly, straddling his thighs, her knees pressing into the bed for traction as she craned her head to suck kisses down his jaw. Ed’s breathing grew faster, heavier, feeling his chest push against her breasts each time he inhaled. Maybe they’d better lay down. 

__

“Let’s,” he said, losing the words and hoping she understood as he grabbed her ass with both hands, pulling her in closer. She moaned, grinding on his half-hard cock, and, shit, what the hell was he supposed to be doing again?

__

Right. “Mm. Shoes,” he mumbled, kicking his off and stretching his arms one at a time under Winry’s shins to undo her laces as she hovered over his hips. She took the opportunity to free his hair from its ponytail, running her fingers through it.

__

Her boots hit the floor with a double thud. “Thanks,” she said, as he leaned them back on the bed together. “Your right hand’s made so much progress.”

__

Ed lifted his open hand up between their faces - “This one?” – placing it on top of her head and moving it in a fluid motion down the side of her hair, caressing her cheek, thumbing her lips open, snaking down to her clavicle and quickly, crudely grabbing her boob.

__

“Hey!” she yelled, slapping his hand away, pinning it to the bed as she shoved her other hand into his hair at the scalp, pulling hard, eliciting from him something between a grunt, a growl and a laugh. “Loud boy,” she mumbled on his lips before sealing them with hers, mouth warm, wet, open –

__

Viselike, hugged her to his chest, laying back fully and throwing off her center of gravity, making her lose her grip as he thrust hips up, grinding his clothed cock against her again and again, provoking loud quavering moans. He kissed her sloppily as she rode him, gasping.

__

“Ed, take off your shirt,” she said breathlessly.

__

“You take off your shirt.”

__

“Well – _yeah_ , of course” she said, rolling her eyes. “I heard alchemists have a term for that.”

__

Caught off guard, he exhaled harshly through his nose, amused. 

__

“And your belt too,” she added quickly.

__

“And what are you going to trade for it?”

__

Blushing wildly and grinning like a fiend, Winry whipped her shirt off, dropped it next to the bed, and cupped her bra-clad breasts. “How about these?”

__

Cracking up, Ed quipped, “Is _that_ how equivalent exchange was supposed to work?”

__

They laughed a bit too noisily at that, with an edge of nervous frenzy. He exhaled shakily, chuckling still, and felt his rational thought, presently banished to some obscure realm, make a heroic but ultimately doomed effort to assert itself. 

__

“You’d be giving way more than you’d be getting in that scenario,” he managed weakly, and, as her bra hit the ground, tried to say, well, something else, though all that came out was a weird ghostly sound. “Wi…”

__

She hiked his shirt up over his head and he lifted his arms dumbly, obligingly. Working on his belt, she murmured, “I know what you want. No more talking, okay?” 

__

Equally relieved and turned on, Ed was grateful they both had a particular talent for knowing when to tell the other to shut up.

__

The memory skipped like a crappy old record as he felt himself fading off. It was time to go home – well, back to Winry.

__

So yeah, to home. And this time he would happily drown.

__

* * *

__

Paninya sat at the table with cards spread in front of her, quirking an eyebrow when Winry re-entered the room.

__

“Ed’s coming here!” Winry said, attempting upbeat and achieving breathless.

__

“Oh?” Paninya leaned back and drew her knee up, resting her arm on it. “When?”

__

“I’m not sure, but it sounded like soon!”

__

“Heh, I _bet_ he wants to come soon.”

__

“ _Paninya!_ ”

__

“What, you don’t think he’ll want to” – she made a fist, drew her elbow back and grunted in an obscene gesture – “the minute he gets here?”

__

Winry covered her face with her hands, groaning loudly while Paninya verbally barreled forward like a knee-based rocket.

__

“Hey, good for him, long as he doesn’t get scared like last time and run away.”

__

Face still shielded, Winry tried to maintain a scowl and failed, breaking into silent racking giggles. “Sometimes I hate you so much.”

__

“I love you too. Now sit down and play your hand.”

__

She sat, dutifully picked up her cards, stared at them, then looked down at the table and grimaced. Heart fluttering manically, she lowered her hand. Concentrating now would be difficult. “Say, do you have that…” – her voice lowered – “you know.”

__

“Whiskey?” Paninya grabbed a small bottle out of her pants pocket and swung it by the cap.

__

“Don’t let Mr. Garfiel hear you.”

__

“Why? He won’t mind. He tries to get us to drink that vermouth stuff with him, like, every Friday.”

__

“He’ll make fun of us for drinking Stray Dog.”

__

“I think you’re just scared.”

__

“No! I…”

__

Paninya waggled her eyebrows, leaning forward provocatively. “Everyone says this is the strongest stuff you can get. I understand if you wanna pass.”

__

“Give me that!” Winry snatched the bottle, held her nose, and took a gulp. She started hacking the moment it hit the back of her throat, doubling over.

__

“Bahahahahahaha!” Paninya laughed long and loud with tears in her eyes, slapping the table. “The girl can’t handle it. Let me try.”

__

She tipped it back with abandon, swallowed and immediately stood up, knocking her chair backwards. “Oh, FUCK. Water,” she appealed frantically, waving her arms, “I need water!”

__

Winry doubled over again, this time in helpless laughter.

__

* * *

__

Paninya snored.

__

Lightly, the snores reached her ears from the floor below, mingling with the distant clinking cheer of a Friday night on Rush Valley’s main drag. Occasional shouts struck out unpredictably, followed by laughter. To these, she could now close her eyes and drift off, though her very first night here entailed lying in bed, absolutely stricken, listening to a particularly raucous group of men alternately singing together and fighting in front of a nearby bar. At three a.m., she nearly exploded out of frustration; at eight a.m., she began her first real day’s work; and at eight-thirty p.m., Garfiel tapped the table she rested her head on twice. She looked up and at his hand, which held a tiny box at its fingertips.

__

“Need these?” he asked knowingly.

__

She opened the box.

__

Earplugs.

__

It was the first and only time another man was close to making her cry tears of joy.

__

For weeks, she’d used them faithfully, reveling in the not-quite hush, different than the busy silence of Resembool – missing the crickets, for one thing – but easily acclimated to, until a weary night when the left one rolled out of her ear, out from bed, and was then stepped on while she searched for it, squished forever.

__

It was mid-week then, when the crowds didn’t gather, replaced instead by clumps of individual townies. By that time, a few voices stood out from the streets as people she knew; as nights progressed, other familiar ones gradually added to the din, becoming a chaotic, eventually predictable chorus. When the second ear plug finally disappeared with the laundry, it wasn’t missed; she’d located her homing ties.

__

She’d never wanted to go to bed when she was younger. Adults got to stay up late talking and playing mysterious games and who knows what; why couldn’t she join them? In her small high room, moonlight illuminated worried thoughts, making them brighter, more legitimate. It was easy to float away on beetle wings of anxiety without the before-bed hugs that enveloped her like blankets. Solid strings seemed to flow from her parents’ arms to her body, ties that followed their backs out her bedroom door and down the stairs, the anchors to her balloon.

__

Voices floated up from below - father, mother and grandmother. Their reverberation meant she could close her eyes. Father playful but serious and self-deprecating. Mother calm and warm. Still present. Granny Pinako too, laughing, sharp, with pipe smell and indistinct words. Murmurs, they were called in a chapter book she paged through, turning the pages with her whole flat hand. Murmurs. Related to femur, mumps, humerus…

__

Sleep came like that until the ties were severed forever. In their absence, brilliance burst forth.

__

Sometimes, then, when granny and Den’s presence wasn’t enough, when the boys weren’t over – not that they deigned to stay more than occasionally, even when it was raining, windy and the walk home bitter, Al would always acquiesce to Ed, their eyes turning to thick glass and turning towards their real home – she crept downstairs.

__

Much could be done by lantern light – polishing, sorting screws, organizing tools, placing them quietly on a towel atop the workstation. She built a pulley. She built a mousetrap. She took apart the mousetrap. She took apart their indoor lantern. She unbuilt a small, abandoned arm made for a young man who’d died, rebuilt it with six fingers, took it apart, rebuilt it with a clamp in place of the hand, verified it indeed functioned, then scavenged it for parts. Nights could be as busy as days, she realized; they were as short or long as you made them, and sleep was modular. She decided it would be moved to the day, during class.

__

When the fancy modern oven arrived late one afternoon, she waited and, in the dark, took that apart too. The murmurs which awoke her that day belonged to the perplexed men who’d come to install it, two gawking patients, and an irate grandmother, who kicked everyone out to the garden. She got a talking-to worse than any whupping, and the lesson was clear – her parents wanted her in school, which had started an hour ago. It was important to them that she get an education so her path wouldn’t be easier than any previous generation. But if she wanted to fit automail, she needed to be _awake_ and alert for it. Courage rose inside her acidly, spilling out as a declaration - she was quitting school. She was sick of waiting around, biding her time there when this is what she wanted to do – this.

__

Granny Pinako’s grin surprised her for a moment before it turned into a laugh. They got to work.

__

* * *

__

Dawn in Rush Valley could usually be counted on for a reprieve from heat, a slight dampness that suppressed the dust, and a brilliant sunrise – all in high demand in the desert. How long these lasted depended on how early you got up, and Winry planned to miss them all that morning. Her day off would consist of awakening to a shimmering, baking landscape she’d completely avoid by locking herself in her room with the yearly double issue of her favorite automail magazine. So why was she witnessing the gaudy purple-orange first lights, Paninya’s snores providing a hearty backbeat? Sudden breaths came shallow, and her chest felt filled with scattered marbles.

__

_‘Ediscomingbacksoon’_

__

Oh, yes, she was awake. The marbles rolled and pinged off one another. Eyes snapping shut, she took in breath after deep breath.

__

Ed is coming back soon, and he had a few questions to answer…

__

Had he grown at all? (She wouldn’t bother asking if he’d kept up maintenance.)

__

What types of climates did he plan to be in next? (Garfiel was an unexpected fount of knowledge about cold-weather automail; between his teachings and the correspondence she kept up with the Briggs technician, she had a lot of new _ideas_ to bounce off a willing victim – the appropriate client, rather.)

__

And (gently, carefully – at the right time – but firmly) she would ask about that scar, the one from the wound that went all the way through.

__

And _not_ that it mattered, _not_ that _she_ cared or necessarily needed to know, but were they, er, engaged – or _whatever_ , whatever was going on between them, could they name it, if only so Paninya and Garfiel would shut up already?

__

…All questions he _would_ answer, right after she hugged him, got a look at that leg and screwed his brains out. Priorities.

__

If everyone’s bodies could just _behave_ themselves this time, things could go according to plan.

__

And the plan had been perfect, as her plans tended to be.

__

She thought back to a year or so ago when she’d hatched it. Take advantage of the sliver of evening they’d be alone – Al off on his trip, granny in town for a bit, no clients at the shop – to take this period in time and fully crack it open, poke at it, see what it meant. Not that they’d _discussed_ it, but from the way he followed her to bed every time she offered, his hasty grab of her wrist that time in the garden round back of the house, from the way he bit her lip the last time they kissed, careful but not tentative – fuck, from the way he groaned – loudly, as she tried to extricate herself, reaching to cover his mouth – coming on her hands, his hands, locked together – as wrung-out as she’d felt, she could’ve taken him right then if he hadn’t fallen back and hit the bed like a meteor, if not for the footsteps in the hall, Den barking, the uncertainty – one more client? – the _timing_ of it all –

__

Seemed like he was ready.

__

_Seemed_ the operative word, for she sensed a reticence, too, that lay hard inside him. Nearing the end of their stay, he and Al became consumed in frenzied talks, always shut in their room (“up there yammering,” Pinako would say, and Winry had to admit that’s what it sounded like from the floor below) but at dinner Al carried on conversation like a normal human being while Ed grumbled into his plate, avoiding her gaze and the latent distractions it implied. Catching his eye was even worse. She could imagine the newspapers in Central. “Famed former State Alchemist Edward Elric mortally wounded choking on meatball! Family sez so-called girlfriend shot him a saucy glance!”

__

Al would give her a long-suffering apologetic expression, Granny would puff her pipe, looking off into the distance while Winry pushed her food around, feeling cautious, electrified - the perfect state in which to work on nerve connections. Everyone would scurry off to their obsessions.

__

When she wasn’t assisting with the business in Resembool, she was tinkering like that. Garfiel, bless him, had agreed to take her back after realizing she was still alive. Turns out running off to the mountains and immediately disappearing for the better part of a year makes a lot of people worry about you. Oops. 

__

There were prototypes they’d been working on that needed improvement, then a re-drawing of their schematics was in order, followed by drafting and fabricating models - working scale models. That’s how it was done in the automail business. Mechanics tended to find drafting either pure drudgery before you get to the fun stuff or a fertile time for the imagination in the foam between reality and idea, notions suddenly condensing into form, flowing directly onto paper.

__

Winry fell on the latter side, her mind often flying past her hand and into the open, thoughts jumping out to skitter crablike on the desk till she slapped them into notebooks, onto graph or scrap paper or taking the shape of a teeny mockup. Some of those tiny pieces had one or two live parts, just for fun. Garfiel delighted in silly indulgences like that, encouraging productive play when he wasn’t working her eight to ten hours a day in sweltering heat.

__

The weather by then had turned rather beautiful. All but Pinako took it for granted. In fact, Ed and Al completely left for a month, bypassing the first stretch of really _nice_ days entirely for their thank-you tour.

__

On windless days, when there was time, Winry began taking some work out to the porch, or she’d lug a table to the lawn, perching on a high stool to do small repair tasks. Customers seemed to enjoy it. Mr. Masters, a combat vet from the city who’d retired in the countryside, who _kept_ coming _back_ for small questions, who granny refused to deal with since he talked too much, enthused, “Open-air automail – I love it!”

__

He was probably lonely. She sympathized in a vague way, able to sustain polite conversation without getting too distracted, looking up only to scan the road. That far edge of horizon drew your eye; it was easy, here, to stare out and worry, or become blank.

__

Mr. Masters sure did like to talk. His cadence told her whatever just came out of his mouth had been a joke. Again, the road drew her eyes up, and an image popped into her head – two hollow beans floating to the surface in a bowl of water. She laughed, he laughed, and then there were two figures in the distance.

__

She cried the first few times she set out four dinner plates. She welled up seeing Ed’s purple thumbnail after that unfortunate hammer mishap. Cutting Alphonse’s hair, she tried not to, really, but one tear hit the back of his neck, making him turn with an apologetic smile and those big round eyes, and it was off to the races. The resulting hug was long and welcome.

__

But this time, she wouldn’t. She wanted to watch them both come back together like this one last time.

__

The high-spirited boys shuffled into the grass, and five simultaneous conversations ensued of greeting, telling, of polite inquiry, automail, a continuation of debate. Edward had grinned at her welcome and walked straight towards them, hands in pockets till he reached her, put his arm around her shoulder and kept talking.

__

Keeping up conversation with a dry mouth was hard.

__

Certain things dawned on her.

__

* * *

__

Things were much the same for a while, everyone preparing to leave, she in the workshop drawing and building, the boys quieter in their collusions but shooting off sparks.

__

It was thrilling, emerging from her pile of screws and plating to meet his eyes, see in them the same satisfaction she felt, finally, but – something else molten, and secret.

__

So it went for a bit more time.

__

Al leaving was bittersweet. Even as frail as he was at the start, he’d quickly filled out into such a self-possessed, handsome young man. She’d say he was off to be a heartbreaker if she hadn’t met that fiery young woman he was trekking out to see.

__

Ed didn’t seem sad at all, though - more like energized, as if his mind was already on the next train out. She practically had to beat him with a clue and drag him back home that night. In the end, up in her room, the door kicked shut, his widened eyes told her everything – he had no earthly idea what was going on. No matter. He’d always been a quick learner. Firm arms soon encircled her back and pulled her in as they began a slow, stumbling backwards dance toward the bed and all was golden.

__

It had been going so, so well. When they lay back on the bed sans shirts, she _knew_ it was going to happen, thought, ‘ _This is it,’_ felt him breathing heavy, quiet and deep. Whenever one tried to pull back from the kiss for air, the other followed too closely, as if caught in the wake, and closed the gap, hard, dizzy, exhaling through their noses onto each other’s faces to avoid parting. So little separated them, the skin of their bodies fever-hot and starting to stick. She half expected his automail to start putting off steam when she grazed it with her leg. At least it felt nice and cool.

__

He shifted to get on top of her, inadvertently pressing their foreheads together.

__

“Ow,” she laughed.

__

“Sorry,” he practically breathed, hands and eyes roaming – breasts, ribs, waist, hips, stopping there. “Can I…”

__

“Yes,” she said, much louder and more seriously than intended. They locked eyes and blushed, which seemed to galvanize him somehow.

__

Time became fast and slow at once.

__

There was the feeling of his hands, light and careful, dragging off her last scrap of clothes, and then one hand upon her, warmth against slickness. So warm she shivered and his finger moved forward with purpose.

__

Expecting pain, she had shut her eyes, and she had felt some, just a bit, which quickly reduced to nothing, but then no further movement either, so she looked.

__

His eyes were serious, huge, catching all of the dim sunset light. 

__

There was silence, and blood - more than expected, it was clear from his face - on hand and sheets. She took a breath in and thought, ‘ _Ooooookay, well,’_ thought of medical textbooks and romance novels – not that she read those – not that she read _more than a few_ of those – how this had been dismissed as spotting, and wondered whether it was just her or if these venerable authorities were underestimating anything _else_ she should know about, thought of Paninya’s gaze in moonlight, grinning together, alternating terror and giddiness in late-night retellings of moments like these gone awry in the lives of townsgirls Winry barely know, and of the two of them anticipating the future, faraway possibilities spun between friends, thought immediately with fun dread, _‘She is going to pry a moment-by-moment retelling of this out of me next time I see her,_ ’ finally exhaled, looked up at him and interpreted the stare – perturbed, mildly concerned, questioning, mutely searching, waiting,

__

waiting for – 

__

‘A _h, a confirmation. From me_.’

__

“Oh, I’m fine, no, it’s okay,” she said rapidly, which was as close to a meaningless expression as you could get with Ed, she realized right away, who responded just that to about every worried question from everyone, and, true to form, he just sat there, waiting.

__

She breathed deep once more and held it briefly, feeling it relax her, then let it out, smiling a small smile.

__

“Really. It was only tight for a moment, and it’s over now. These kind of things just, um, happen sometimes, nothing to worry about,” she said as confidently as she could.

__

His eyebrows lost their creases and he wiped his hand on his thigh, leveling a devastating little look at her and leaning forward to grab her waist. His skin was hot and he smelled like sun. Sun, sweat, dust, salt, and wet earth. She’d had a bath early that morning, taking special care to scrub as much grime from her hands and nails as possible, then letting her hair dry for hours before slowly, carefully brushing it out, hiding away in her room all day on pretense of letting the brothers say goodbye to each other. She wondered now, after all that walking from the station, if the subtle (she hoped) scent of her perfumed bathwater had worn off. Edward had a habit of inhaling deeply when they were alone and close that she first thought came from nerves, breathing steadily to calm his heart rate, which was cute, but as time went on she realized, furiously turned on and embarrassed, that he was smelling her.

__

_‘Deep down, maybe he’s into the scent of gear oil,’_ she thought, repressing a giggle he would’ve swallowed anyway. His lips were chapped, but he was a pretty good kisser – now, at least, after they’d taught each other how to do it. Anything they needed from each other would have to be built from the ground up, she thought, but their foundation was rock-solid.

__

She lay back a little, separating from their kiss and running her hands down his chest, resting just above his abdominal scar. He gave her side a squeeze and pulled away, sat back on his knees, and looked her in the eyes for a long moment, gaze low-lidded, intense and indecipherable. She blushed, automatically giving a half-smile but looking away, down at their bodies. A little blood never scared her _. ‘Human bodies are messy,’_ her grandmother told her long ago, _‘Those books only cover so much. By your first surgery, you’ll understand.’_ Ed, with all his scars, surely knew that too.

__

His mouth set into a deep frown, hands squeezed into fists on his thighs. She hated that she knew this look. Every instinct called out to take his hands, pull him close, stroke his hair and murmur sweet things, let him lean into her, give him the love he deserved. Make the love they both needed, together. The urge was strong, but every year, she’d gotten better at fighting it, though sometimes it leaked out as tears. No use giving Ed what he didn’t believe he deserved; he’d never accept it. So she persisted in helping him any other way he’d take, only pushing her way through the defenses when absolutely necessary. Whatever they were doing together now filled her with careful hope, so much that it almost scared her, made her reckless, but patience won out.

__

“Winry,” he said with a creaky voice, snapping her out of her haze, but didn’t go on.

__

“Ed?”

__

“I, um.” His hands flattened, and he gave a rueful exhale of a chuckle.

__

“Ed…”

__

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I’ll go grab a towel.”

__

Smoothly, he stood up from the bed. She admired him as he dressed, back to her, and wondered again how he’d gotten that large scar. The first time she saw it, she couldn’t stop staring. She knew what it meant to be impaled there, what organs were affected, and tears had sprung to her eyes. He’d rushed to reassure her – it looks worse than it is, Mr. Lion and Mr. Gorilla took him to a doctor immediately, he recovered under medical care, and he’s here now, right? So it all worked out; please don’t cry.

__

But it stuck in her mind when he sneezed in the mornings and pressed a hand to it, when the sides of his mouth quirked as he leaned down to pick up his clothes. Ed’s ability to hide pain was practiced, but she was an expert, and the story’s timeline didn’t add up either besides. But he _was_ here, alive, which was enough for her. For now.

__

Strolling into the hallway, he uttered a loud “Whoa” and skidded back through the door, looking harried. “The clock says it’s almost 8:30. Did granny say when she’d be back?”

__

Winry’s spine straightened. “No, but it can’t be long now. We should’ve started the stew before we came up here,” she groaned.

__

Smirking, he stood in the doorway. “Not my fault you _dragged_ me back to your love den like some kind of horny… _hyena_ — HEY,” he roared as he dodged a wrench that flew millimeters from his head.

__

Winry covered herself furiously with her arms, blushing, she was sure, equally furiously, because she was certainly feeling fiery. _“Where’s that towel, Ed?”_

__

He made a strangled noise and scrambled out of the room. She could hear him slamming around in the hall closet, probably making a mess. They’d have to have roasted meat and potatoes instead. If there was time, gravy too. Granny would fuss at them for using the oven when it was warm out like this. She sighed, resigned, then giggled as she heard a crash.

__

“Shoulda fixed that shelf like I asked!”

__

__

* * *

__

The days passed and she looked at the road. Isn’t that how it always was.

__

Or, she tried to look at the road as the shop constantly filled with people that blocked her view and brought conversation, and interesting problems, and _life._ Edward said he was coming home “soon” – could mean anything. At some point, some inappropriate busy time, he’d show up, and she’d ask Garfiel for the rest of the day off.

__

Days and days went by. And something very strange happened. The phone rang one morning, the person on the line said they’d arrive _that night_ , and the person was Edward. _Weird._

__

As she rolled down the metal shop door that evening, its rumbling sound seemed to continue, somehow, and sure enough, there was Ed pushing a dolly with a crate on it draped in that silly loud trench coat. Tired and grinning. She leaped at him, throwing her arms around his neck as he held her waist, oil probably staining his clothes, the momentum causing them to spin semicircular like they used to as kids. 

__

Back up with the shop gate. He and Garfiel greeted each other while she cleared out a corner for the unwieldy crate.

__

“That’s fine,” Garfiel said, waving his finger at the box, “leave it there for now and don’t you worry one bit. You are _not_ in our way, Edward Elric.”

__

“Uh, thanks. Appreciate it.”

__

“I’ll show you where to put that upstairs,” Winry said, pointing to his suitcase. He looked down at his own hand holding it, suddenly bewildered, like it was supposed to be empty, or some kind of bomb. They took the stairs two at a time, chucked the bag on her floor and embraced in the dark.

__

Ed pulled back a little to look at her. “Don’t tell him there’s two more on the way”

__

She laughed and drew herself up to full height for a kiss at the same time he leaned down, bashing their foreheads together. They grimaced but went with it, noses touching, then mouths, his lips pliant but hands insistent on her lower back. She angled her face a little as he broke off, tilting her back slightly while holding her firm before diving back in, pushing the tip of his soft tongue against hers. Her hand found the back of his neck for leverage, forcing their bodies closer, and she kissed back hard. When they finally pulled apart, it was with an obscenely wet sucking sound that made her eyes fly open. His golden eyes were already there, staring.

__

He swallowed, gaze an inch away, and half-whispered, “I’m starving.”

__

He had the decency to snap his mouth shut and blush a little over his audacious grin – his intent then so obvious, she was ready to brain him with a wrench just to release some tension – as she sprang apart from him and a suggestion stuttered its way out of her throat – food stalls -- hit them up, obtain dinner, bring it back here. Catch up.

__

Where here?

__

Anywhere. The floor.

__

He assented with a smile.

__

* * *

__

Improbably, they sprawled on her bedroom floor, an ocean of cartons abutting their respective borders, Ed ripping his way through a pile of lamb skewers, violently jerking the sticks from his mouth and splattering orangey oil onto his shoes, which needed a good cleaning and polishing anyway.

__

She turned her head to search for napkins as new weight shifted on her earlobes. A _spare_ pair, he had emphasized as she opened the gift he proffered as offhandedly as you could a small box of jewelry to a significant other you’d maybe-proposed to. Twin silver glinted, nestled in silky red fabric, plain, as she tended to like them, with an unexpectedly understated etching of vines - or maybe small entwined flowers? Halfway out the door to get her magnifying goggles, he grabbed the back of her collar and gave her a look that said, ‘glad you like them, but can we eat first?’

__

Winry finished the last of the fried cheese-ball things and crumpled the bag, adding it to a semi-organized pile of empties Ed began stacking as they talked…

__

_“…So I finally get to this town, and there’s nothing there, not even a mailbox, and it turns out this old-ass bum sent me 50 miles outta my way ‘cause…”_

__

_…_ and talked as the sun sank.

__

_“It’s this gorgeous little chrome ’99 CKA 022 Nova! I’m completely rewiring it and building a new engine, and Garfiel said he’d replace the seat for my birthday! My plans for the custom exhaust are already drafted and ready to send to the fabricators! It’s all the way downstairs under a tarp, but I’ll show you tomorrow, and…”_

__

* * *

__

Two or three changes of clothes and an odd number of socks lay crushed between a layer of books and an open suitcase with a broken lock next to the bed. Ed had picked out a few pieces and headed to the tiny bathroom, fluffy pink towels in arms, so she lay and listened to the shower and changed her clothes and thought.

__

And then thinking was -- so much. Edward in her shower. Back home. Was here home?

__

Back to the way things were but completely different.

__

Yes, there had to be – anything better to do. His leg. She definitely needed to look at his leg – _duh_ _._ Even if it seemed in suspiciously good condition. That should come first.

__

A trumpet or trombone or some loud brassy annoyance machine blared distantly from the street and Ed appeared in boxers and billowing steam and not much else. He dropped a balled pile of clothes and towels next to the suitcase, then stood there.

__

“I need to do laundry.”

__

She walked toward him, finger extended. “What you need to do is show me your leg!”

__

“Sure,” he said easily.

__

He didn’t move. If he wasn’t going to step back and sit, neither would she. She blinked pointedly, triggering a cocky grin.

__

“When did you wanna do that?”

__

A harsh wave of desire rose up, slammed her banks and filled her with foam. Seasick, sunburned as he grabbed her. Palms up, her hands went to his chest and slid slowly trailing sparkling warmth. One hand’s fingertips found his clavicle, its surgical scar, playing along it with light taps until she caught the back of his neck as the other moved to his stomach, the rippled topography of its horrible star, rested there. His mouth smiled in a weird pained way, more like a cheek twitch than anything, and he moved back imperceptibly, only an inch…

__

“Winry,” he whispered distractingly.

__

…A flinch most people would never notice.

__

His hand ran down her arm, gave it a rousing quick little rub as he tried to come at her again fully, lips slightly parted; likely never, she thought, had he ever looked more inviting, but her hand stayed and her voice from another plane said, “Ed, what is this?”

__

His hand still ghosted her elbow.

__

“How… what happened here?”

__

Gingerly, almost gravely, he said, “I told you about it, remember? Getting – I fell, and it _sucked,_ recovery sucked, but luckily those chimera guys were with me, they got me to a doctor who –“

__

“I know, Ed. I remember what you said, but you – when I saw you in the spring before the promised day, you seemed fine, but this _scar_ is” – words rushed out, no longer respecting boundaries or sense – “I’ve never seen a wound like this on… a living person, and when I see it, I feel so _worried_ – it makes me feel like there’s something you’re not telling me!”

__

“Yeah.”

__

The word was so low, she chanced a look at his face. He appeared about to be sick. She wished she could stop pulling him up short – maybe not the best phrase – like this.

__

“I probably would’ve died down there. Those two chimeras helped save my life.”

__

So it was one of those times you weren’t supposed to ask military people about, but she couldn’t help it.

__

“Down where?” she whispered.

__

“…Mineshaft. Floor exploded.”

__

“But I was with you in the mine. You were supposed to go back to the fort.”

__

“It was after you left.”

__

_He had nearly died._ He’d nearly died then and the first thing she’d done when they saw each other again was get angry at him. And he was pissed right back! Oh but they were a pair _._

__

“How’d you do it?”

__

“I fell onto this piece of rebar –”

__

“How was it possible to _heal_ it? Those… organs are…”

__

“Um. Alchemy. I closed it up with alchemy and the doctor stabilized me.”

__

“Alchemy can do that?” she asked with awe.

__

He swallowed, mumbled, “Kind of,” and looked away with a deep frown before unexpectedly sitting on the floor. His hand reached up, grasped hers and pulled. She sank to her knees.

__

“What do you mean?” What she knew of alchemy began swirling through her mind, an icy hood of dread cast over her.

__

“Turns out alchemy can do that, yeah,” he said as he finally met her eyes, alarmed at first before smiling ruefully. There was a shakiness in her chest and cold, she realized, her face suddenly cold and too hot. In response to her tears, he said nothing, just squeezed her hand and looked like she was breaking a heart he didn’t deserve, and that’s when she knew she was justified in her fear.

__

“You know what a philosopher’s stone is made of.” A silent, stricken nod confirmed as he pushed forward. “When I was lying down there, I thought maybe if I used a little bit of my – self, I’d be able to regenerate some of what was lost and close the wound… And I was right.”

__

He didn’t say “soul,” didn’t dare to and didn’t have to.

__

“One hypothesis we have is that I traded life for the equivalent of time, the time it would take to close the wound, plus, uh –”

__

“But a wound like that would never heal on its own!”

__

“I know. Like I said, that’s just an idea. It’s something Al’s looking into over –”

__

“So Al knows,” she said stonily - _‘What a stupid thing to say. Of course Al knows.’_

__

But instead of dismissive reply, Ed merely looked away from her, seeming almost… chastised.

__

Voice straining quiet, he said, “I was always gonna tell you - but once I had a lead, or at least a _clue…”_ trailing off before adding insistently, “You deserve an answer. The thought of you worrying because of this –”

__

Interrupting seemingly her forte tonight, Winry broke in. “Has anyone ever done this before? Just with one person?”

__

“If they have, they sure as hell forgot to write it down,” he said, groaning a little and pushing his hair back before letting it fall, exasperated, in front of his face. “There was no time to second-guess. I probably wouldn’t be here now if I had. …And you told me not to die, so.”

__

At that, he looked up at her with a weary smirk. Something bubbled over inside of her that made her laugh unexpectedly. She couldn’t help but put her feelings on a plate for him as she always did.

__

“I’m happy you didn’t die,” she murmured. “Worryingly enough, I’m kind of impressed. Wait -- is this why you only offered me half your life?”

__

“No!” he sputtered, blushing to the tips of his ears before they both burst out in laughter, hers watery.

__

Her parents had been young when they were killed, and Ms. Trisha died in her mid-20s. None of them had known the future, that they’d never be reunited with their loved ones. Would her parents have stayed if they knew they would die? Would Mr. Hohenheim have?

__

_‘Yes_ ,’ she though fiercely, _‘yes, yes. If they knew, they would never have left. They would stay. They’d hold their families extra-tight.’_

__

But Ed didn’t want to be held down. Truthfully, neither did she; they both needed to help people in the best ways they knew how. Through the windows, darkness rose, clouding the room and making the wan lamps appear brighter. Concern showed in his countenance, eyes big and his mouth in a thin, tight smile as he waited. It seemed the wrong time to say she loved him. But she did love him. If he only lived a little longer, so be it; she’d just have to show him that every day they had together. Privately, she resolved to, determined. If only she could stop crying.

__

“Thanks for telling me, Ed,” she sniffled.

__

“I’m going to find out, okay? It’s a promise. I want you to rely on me,” he said seriously.

__

“Hmm? Are you getting a job?”

__

“Uh, not like that.” He looked up for a moment, blinking, then grabbed her hand with his right, cool and immediate. “Remember the homunculus who was in Ling’s body, that guy Greed?”

__

This was a new tack. She nodded.

__

“At your house before the promised day, he heard us talking in your room. When I, uh walked out,” – his face screwed up – “he was right there, and he said – he kind of called us greedy, in a way.”

__

“Huh?”

__

“He tried to tell me all desire is neutral, and we’re the ones who place a value on it. He was always saying shit like that. At the time, it really pissed me off.” He stared at his open palm, eyes moving slowly from it to their joined ones. “You know I always reach too far for things – it’s gotten me in a lot of trouble, and I thought I’d finally learned my lesson. My own bad judgement almost got me killed. Then you and Al were gone for months. Meantime, we’re roaming around doing what felt like fuck-all while trying to stay alive. I felt – disillusioned is the word, I guess. Like I needed to get realistic about wanting too much. It was starting to sound impossible. Wanting to protect everyone and stop the promised day, get Al’s body back, survive it all… wanting us all to be safe and together. Wanting you when I – I couldn’t – at that point, I couldn’t - ”

__

“I know, Ed, you don’t have to -”

__

Swallowing, he continued like he needed to keep going. “…Stuff like that. Then there you were, not doing what I said. I mean, I wouldn’t have listened to me either, and you’re just as stubborn as I am, so. Hearing you say I should reach for everything at once and take it... I knew you were right. And you’re still right. And that asshole Greed was right too, ‘cause I do want you. And I want everything for us.”

__

A fleeting impulse to blush and giggle – it’s so like Ed to fling himself whole gale into a speech when avoiding an uncomfortable intimate subject became impossible – died as she raised her head to see him looking straight at her, complete conviction in his eyes.

__

“What do you mean?” she heard herself say.

__

He clutched both her hands. “You’ve done so much for me, you know? No matter how long I live, I’m never gonna be able to pay it back, so… I won’t. Not like you’d expect me to anyway. But you should know I’m going to use it as fuel for the future. Our future. So I guess I am a selfish person.”

__

Scarcely daring to breathe, they stared at each other till Ed broke into a grin. He reached out with his right hand, caressed the top of her head in a smooth motion that ended with him lightly cupping her cheek. 

__

“Ed,” she said, realizing her vision was blurring again, and blinked, a tear rolling down her face. He swiped it with his thumb, which he brought to his mouth and grazingly kissed. Her own mouth didn’t seem to work even though she needed to somehow verbalize that he was a dumb beautiful genius idiot. “Ed,” she tried again, “I…”

__

“Let’s get married.”

__

* * *

__

It was by far the most pleasurable time he’d been devoured.

__

* * *

__

She threw a hopeful arm to her right and came up empty.

__

Her eyes opened in a sleepy, I-am-one-with-the-mattress reluctant way, hand flopping and feeling around for a nonexistent boy body. The new crevasse in the bed on his side wasn’t even warm anymore. The bastard. Always leaving her alone. Where was he? Off reading some arcane text already and eating all the bacon already?

__

Holding her breath, she listened. Obviously, no one was in the tiny bathroom, which might as well have a loudspeaker and light-up ticker tape printer attached to the door announcing all actions within. Steady water whooshing from the first-floor pipes told her Garfiel was doing dishes. Wasn’t today her day to do those? Didn’t he have something better to work on? Passive-aggressive, much? Jeez.

__

Paninya was coming over later. They could all go out for a nice meal. Or some beer and some peanuts and watching a dice game on the corner next to the curated salvage shop. Ed could join in and she’d start a betting pool with Garfiel.

__

_CLANG_

__

_CLANG_

__

_BANG_

__

_bangbangbangbangbangbangbangBANGWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMbapbapbapbapvrrrrrrrrrrrrdddddd_

__

_rrrrrrrrrr_

__

Paninya working on the roof at 7 in the morning. On a weekend. And people called _her_ a workaholic when everybody at this house was _clearly_ on another level of –

__

Faint voices floated down through the ceiling.

__

“Hold it like this, huh? Oh, so then…”

__

_sssskkkrrrrrdddddd_

__

Coffee-deprived parts of her brain throbbed with displeasure as she rolled from bed and put on pants. Why was Ed on the rooftop too? There should be a law, a very specific, thorough law banning construction on the roof of a mechanic’s dwelling on her day off when she lives on the top floor. There probably was one already. Ed was always breaking laws. Off causing trouble. Doing things like this when she was so damn _hungry_ and she hadn’t even gotten a good look at that leg yet and and

__

She brushed her teeth in a haze, stomping down the steps and greeting Garfiel with a grunt.

__

The wave of heat outside the shop hit her like a fist. High temperatures this early in the morning promised a brutal day ahead. All the more reason for him to get down off the roof and hide inside with an iced tea and an eager girlfriend. Or fiancé. Or whatever.

__

“Ed!”

__

One hand on her hip, the other shielding her eyes, she stood far enough back in the street to see their heads. Improbably, they seemed cheerful, like they’d been laughing at something before she called up. Seeing those two getting along was seriously weird.

__

Simultaneously, Paninya and Ed exclaimed, “Hey, sleepyhead!” and “Winry!”

__

“What the heck are you two doing up there?”

__

“Mr. Garfiel says the roof needs patching before it rains tomorrow! I’m almost done though.”

__

“Just gotta apply tar to the rest of the nails,” Ed butt in, waving a thick brush.

__

Pffft. What a wizened old roofer.

__

“Jeez, couldn’t it have waited till later? I was trying to sleep!”

__

Paninya blinked, smiling cutely. “What time d’you think it is?”

__

“Huh?”

__

Ed looked up at the sky and uttered something that sounded like “well past noon.”

__

“What?!”

__

Ed made a frustrated noise and handed Paninya the brush. “Hold on,” he said, taking off his gloves, “I’m coming down,” then shimmied off the edge of the roof, hooked in through the window and must’ve run down the steps because there he was jostling out the door already. She met him in the shade. Any trance of annoyance seemed gone from the bandana-wearing, shorts-clad, tar-in-ponytail boy in front of her. In fact, he was wearing a humungous smirk.

__

Hand over her eyes, she asked, “Is it really that late?”

__

“Yeah. Sorry,” he grinned, stepping a little closer and grabbing her hand easily, like it was normal. Stooping and squinting into her eyes like _that_ was normal. “Are you okay?”

__

_‘There is no moisture left in my body at all and my throat feels like shit from all the crying and fucking and how are you_ awake _right now and I love you and let’s go back to bed and let me see your leg_ immediately _Edward Elric’_

__

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “Last night was... I – I” – she fanned herself with the hand that wasn’t holding his – “I’m really _thirsty_. And hungry. I’m gonna go inside and get some breakfast. Or lunch, I guess, now.”

__

“Okay,” he said, squeezing her hand and letting go. But staying close.

__

“After that, I’m examining your leg, so don’t go anywhere!”

__

“ _Don’t go anywhere_ \-- where would I go?!”

__

“Hup hup. _Ha_.” Paninya landed next to them. “All done.”

__

Garfiel appeared too, drink tray in hand and frilly apron on waist. “Oh, thank you, Paninya – and Edward, of course. Lemonade?”

__

“Sure!” Paninya exclaimed. Ed took one too and sipped it carelessly.

__

“Winry, dear, thrilled you’ve finally decided to join us. Coffee’s on the stove.”

__

“You are the best,” she sighed dramatically, and meant it. “And thanks, guys.”

__

“Yup,” Paninya said, and Ed grunted agreeably. She looked at him while sipping, then pointed. “Got tar on the end of your hair.”

__

“Son of a –,“ eyes widening, Ed grabbed the end of his ponytail and grimaced. “Dammit.”

__

“You can use oil to get it out,” Paninya supplied helpfully. So helpful. She loved watching Ed squirm.

__

“Blegh. Okay, I’m going inside. Better put some pants on before the automail jackals see my leg and start swarming.”

__

Garfiel put his hand to his mouth and giggled while Paninya said, “Oh, they won’t bother you anymore. Everybody here knows you’re Winry’s fiancé.”

__

Now Ed would get a comically large frown, steam erupting from his ears while he spluttered out denials.

__

Or maybe not.

__

Perhaps her mental schemas needed updating. She pushed her fists to her eyes, willing the sleepiness away as Ed merely blushed, shrugged, then took her hand and lead her inside.

__

“Ed?” she said as they walked.

__

“Yeah?”

__

Winry stopped, causing him to pause and turn to her. Warmth radiated off him -- out of her too, she thought, as if they’d both eaten a little piece of sun and been okay somehow.

__

“I’m really happy,” she said, the sentiment ruined slightly by her immediate yawn afterward.

__

Smiling affectionately, Ed said, “I bet you’re gonna be a lot happier after you have some coffee.”

__

The door’s bell chimed behind them, cheerily familiar, and she turned on reflex to see Garfiel flipping the shop’s _Open_ sign to _Closed_.

__

“There any coffee left?” Paninya asked, wearing her small cat smile and standing on tiptoe to peer over them into the kitchen.

__

_‘I’m really happy.’_ The thought repeated in her head. She’d scarcely had a better, more confusing morning, well, ever, especially when Garfiel bustled over and put a crown on the whole thing in the way he liked to do, brandishing a mixing bowl.

__

“Anybody want crepes?”

__

**Author's Note:**

> • Well, hello! EdWin is my OTP in the truest sense of the term. In fact, the only fanfiction I’ve ever written is this and a not-very-good edwin songfic posted on FF well over a decade ago (ok, and an aborted criminal minds reid/prentiss French medieval museum vacation fic -- enough said there). Anyway, very happy to be marginally back in the fandom (BEYOND happy that this pairing is fuckin canon babeyyyy yesssssss!!!! OMG)
> 
> •This all came from me trying to take seriously Arakawa’s edwin MANDATE and incorporating, roughly, the timeline of Ed’s return. The months may be a little fucky, but he’s at least back within a year...ish.
> 
> • I enjoy the manga most, but all the scenes featuring apples in Brotherhood are like dramatic catnip to more. The way the trio finds out about Hughes’ death in the anime is so much more intense, especially for Winry. And I love that the anime shows her taking this apple pie exhaustion nap right at the table when the brothers arrive home, implying that she ridiculously took Ed’s command for pie 200 PERCENT SERIOUSLY. She was like “Ed may or may not understand metaphor so I’ll just bake a pie every day to be safe. Al is gonna be blown away when he gets here”
> 
> •Before I go, I leave you with this thought. Instead of her pants, Winry could’ve asked Ed to wear one thigh-high stocking to cover his leg.
> 
> •Oh, and if you're looking for me in other places, I'm candystaples on tumblr!


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